Home
by KisstheRain14
Summary: Somewhere along the way, she lost track of where it was. He figured he should remind her. /ZxC/


**Something written past 1AM because I'm a masochist like that. Yes, I do have to get up early tomorrow. **

**By the way, this hasn't been run by my beta. Any mistakes at all are my fault entirely.**

**Just a side note: I don't really know when this is set... I think sometime in OGSY, after the Blackthorne trip but before Cammie decides to leave. **

* * *

**zach: **write about me. come on. you haven't yet.

**me:** screw you, i need to sleep.

**cammie: **zach, stop forcing her to boost your stupid ego.

**zach: **oh, i see how it is. no love for the goode people in the world.

* * *

_She was running._

_It wasn't far, you see, and she could run fast. It was only through the room with the knives that she mustn't touch (although Mommy and sometimes Daddy did), then into the room with the soft couch, then up the stairs with the fluffy carpet on it instead of the wood, and then in through the first door on her writing-hand side. He was still there, fingers dancing over something flat and black with lots of buttons (Mommy said it was a keys bored, but there were no keys and it didn't look boring to her), and eyes staring at another flat black thing (the 'scream'). But the 'scream' was magic - sometimes it had games on it, and other times it had words. Daddy was making the words come onto the thing right now._

"Gallagher Girl, stop - "

_"Daddy," she said loudly. Daddy looked up and smiled, standing up to scoop her into his arms. "Daddy, Mommy said to come downstairs because lunch is almost ready and she has another code to crack."_

_Daddy didn't stop, just walked down the stairs faster than she could run. "Okay, Cammie. Did you try cracking this one too?"_

_She pouted. "Mommy said the level was too high. I'm not allowed to look."_

"Gallagher Girl, stop kicking, it's just me - "

_Daddy laughed, and his big hand stroked her hair. "Someday, Cammie, you're going to be a very high level, and then you're going to be able to look at everything."_

_She smiled. "Okay. And Daddy?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"You're going to help me, right?"_

_"Of course."_

"Cammie!"

Her eyes fly open as a piercing scream leaves her mouth, half-muffled by the mound of pillow crushing her face. She squirms and pushes away from everything touching her, including the strong pair of hands clutching her shoulders. She screams again, feeling the bubble of noise rise up and burst against her vocal cords. One hand jerks away from her shoulder and claps over her mouth, effectively cutting off the sound. She takes deep breaths instinctively, feeling the hot tears burn against her cold cheeks.

"Go away," she whispers to the dark, tall figure crouching in front of her. "Please, Zach, go away."

He gives her a crooked smile, the type of smile that really holds no amusement at all. "You can't tell me to go away from my own room, can you?"

That distracts her for a second. "Why am I here?"

"You fell asleep in the library. I went to check out a few books and found you there. Unfortunately, I don't know the key combination for your room and the others had already fallen asleep."

Somehow, the book excuse doesn't quite work on her and she knows - without a hint of self-complacency or cockiness - that he was looking for her. She refuses to meet his gaze, although she doesn't protest when quick, rough fingers start to push away the tears. She doesn't know if she wants to be left alone or held tightly, taken in from a distance or confronted directly. She doesn't know anything, and that's why she's here in this horrible, horrible mess.

It's almost summer but his room is slightly chilly, enough to make her arms feel cold but not enough to keep the heat from the blankets from toasting her legs. She knows that crying isn't her best suit and that her nose is now all blotchy, with her eyes puffed up and cheeks a pale white. She can't really be bothered to care though; it's dark and who gives a crap about stupid Zachary-Suave-Goode, anyway? Not Cameron Ann Morgan.

She just wants her father back.

And before she really registers it, she's crying into Zach's shoulder - not prettily like girls do in movies, but with an actual runny nose and funny gasping noises. Zach just kind of traces a smooth pattern on her back as he sits with her against the headboard of her (his) bed, comforting and distracting her all at once. "Tell me what's wrong...?" It comes out as a question. Zach of all people knows how important privacy is.

"I don't even know where his grave is, and here I am c-crying when I bet you're still burned and hurting, and I can't even r-read Mr. Solomon's journal because I'm sc-scared, and my Mom is just as bad as I am but not s-showing it, and I can't stop _crying_, and I want to go _home._"

She hadn't meant to say that last part, since technically she is home. But it doesn't really matter anyway, because Zach understands. He always seems to, in a subtle kind of way, and he does now. He doesn't say anything, just sits and holds her. His hands are still now and he tucks her head under his chin, waiting patiently for her to stop when she feels like it. And eventually she does stop, her crying reduced to the occasional deep breath and tear.

She doesn't look back up at him, already feeling the sparks of embarrassment flare in her chest. But he doesn't seem to notice, just relaxes and is silent. The moonlight cuts a shaft through the curtains and pools on the floor, ivory against ebony shadows. She watches dust motes dance across the beam and matches his silence, breathing more steadily as time passes. She feels his chest even out into a deep, sleepy pattern and soon, he's asleep. Half-gone herself, she curls her fingers absentmindedly into the sleeve of his shirt and lets go of consciousness.

* * *

Cammie opens her Culture and Assimilations textbook the next day, intending to look up something about South Korea, when a slip of paper flutters out. She picks it up warily, flipping it over to see a set of typed words.

_Home - (n.)_

_1: a house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, family, or household. _

_2: the place in which one's domestic affections are centered._

_3: any place of residence or refuge._

Then the fourth definition is penciled in, the script slightly messy and the lines bold.

**4: Rebecca Baxter, Elizabeth Sutton, Macey McHenry... and Zachary Goode. Hopefully.**

It's not signed, but Cammie has a pretty good idea of who had been stealthy enough to slip this in her book without her noticing.

He is a spy, after all.

* * *

**Ooh, present-tense verbs. There's something new. ;]**

**Review?**


End file.
